


He Dreams He's Awake

by yorkisms



Series: Lazer Team Fantasy/Dungeons and Dragons AU [2]
Category: Lazer Team (2015)
Genre: Elves are sassy and rude, Gen, Half-Elf!Woody, Origin story for Lazer Quest, Tiefling!Herman, Woody is trying, not as warning-filled as Zach's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yorkisms/pseuds/yorkisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunrise<br/>Oh sunrise<br/>When will you ever come?</p>
<p>Sunrise<br/>Oh sunrise<br/>When will the night be gone?</p>
<p>Or: Before the events of Lazer Quest, one Woody Johnson runs away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Dreams He's Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Origins two!!
> 
> I'm definitely going to take longer than a one-shot to go into Hagan and Herman. I've already covered the accident, but there's an important series of events leading up to their meeting that I'm going to cover. 
> 
> After that: Adam gets a day in the sun.

It is not only humans who fear what they do not understand. 

In a taiga far to the north of Milford, that small town which will someday be the origin of a legendary group of adventurers, lies the elven city of Glassmere. 

Ice is part of the city the way wood is ubiquitous to human buildings. It's cold nearly year-round, the buildings bright and sparkling glass and ice. The city is quite beautiful to view. 

Elves are accepting of humans. Half-human elves are par for the course, and if they wish they are always welcome in any elven city. 

Woodrow Johnson (quickly shortened by family and family friends to Woody) is not the average half-human elf. 

Most of his kind can access magic quickly and easily, and are speedy learners. Woody at age ten manages his first cantrip- twice the average age. 

It's thought at first that he might not have magic at all. That's up in the air up until- he makes a small fire. It's fake and it's very clearly so, and it's again, a cantrip, but it's something. 

That's when they place Woody in spellcasting classes. 

He's already in classes with children half his age, and everyone notes it. Elves talk, perhaps worse than humans. 

For the most part, it's water off a duck's back. He's not the smartest or cleverest, sure, but he's polite and works very hard to please. 

For the most part, adults try to help him and leave him alone, but by the time he's fifteen and can barely manage a full cantrip still, many have given up on him ever learning anything but control. 

"We're going to try a new spell," the teacher declares. Woody is enthusiastic, even though he knows that it won't pick up for him immediately. 

The teacher begins to talk about it, and Woody tries to focus on what she says about letting your magic out, how to shape and form the ability. He's tried to put it to words before, but his magic feels like it's blocked up, constantly. 

The teachers say that their magic feels like a river, a reservoir, a source that they can draw from at will and that is constantly flowing through them. Woody, for one, doesn't feel that. 

It feels more like an ice cube. One that's melting so slowly. 

" _Hal-ti. Trankviligu._ "

Speaking of water, the spell shoots a blue ray from the teacher's hand and turns a glass of water on her desk to ice. The entire class oohs, and Woody can't help but assent.

"You can all try it yourself now."

Three hours later, most everyone is gone, but all that Woody has managed is small snowflakes falling from his hands and melting on the desk. 

It's made a puddle. 

The teacher sighs with familiarity, wipes Woody's desk, and tells him he can go home. 

Woody's walking home when he runs into some of the kids his age. 

"Can you do a trick yet?" one of them- Woody thinks his name is Phaendar, he doesn't really know the ones his age- asks. 

Woody shrugs shyly. 

"About the same."

They all giggle. 

"Is it because you're half panflash?"

Woody frowns, confused. "Um..." 

"Lookit those ears, they're so odd-"

"I don't know," Woody interrupts, oblivious to said interruption. 

"I don't think that's the reason." 

"Keep telling yourself that," Phaendar says with an air of superiority. 

- 

Woody eventually keeps walking, having been pushed around a little by his peers.

Eventually he comes to the shops, and wanders there a while, looking at foods and wares that he's not sure he's allowed to spend money on. 

The streets take him to an inn, one of many in Glassmere, and outside he sees a tiefling tying up two horses, black and palomino. 

This immediately piques Woody's interest, outsiders are uncommon in the city. If they are outsiders at all, they're mostly human. Woody only recognizes other races from lore, to be honest. 

He sits down on a bench that comes out from the nearest storefront and watches. 

The tiefling's got a wagon, a wagon full of boxes, anyway. He limps to an elf Woody knows owns the spot, and they debate for a minute or two before the tiefling pays him, tail twitching irritably. 

The tiefling cycles to the back of the wagon, carefully sits down on the back, and takes a drink from a flask hidden in his clothes. 

Woody watches the whole procedure with wide eyes, and it's a second after that that the tiefling notices him. 

"Hey kid, it's rude to stare," he calls across the street. Woody looks around a minute, then realizes that he's being spoken to. 

"S-Sorry!" 

"C'mere."

He carefully crosses over to where the tiefling is. 

"Do...you need something, mister?"

"Why're you staring?"

Woody flushes, ducking his head. 

"Just...never seen anything like you before?"

"You mean the horns or the leg, kid."

"Um...horns, I guess."

"You're from around here, then?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Nice place."

"S'very pretty," Woody agrees. 

"Too white for my taste, though," the tiefling mutters. 

"I guess it's always bright," Woody says slowly. "I'm just used to it."

"Probably." 

"What are you here for?" Woody asks, fascinated. 

"I sell stuff," the tiefling says shortly. 

"Neat!" Woody exclaims. 

"Medicine."

"Even neater!" Woody pauses. "Do you think it can cure magic?"

"Cure magic?"

"Mine's broken."

"I dunno, kid."

Woody shrugs, looking up. "It was worth asking."

He jumps slightly. 

"It's almost sundown, that means I have to go home-"

"See you around, kid." 

Woody sprints off, waving frantically. 

-

The next day class is even duller than before and Woody is on his way past the inn where he met the tiefling when Phaendar exits a shop. 

Woody, distracted, walks right into him. 

"Watch where you're going."

"Sorry," Woody stammers, and dusts himself off.

"I didn't see, uh-" 

"Save it." 

Woody shifts uncomfortably. Phaendar shoves him slightly, and slight bursts of light form off and on around Woody, haloing him in colored light. Phaendar snickers. 

"Did you mean to do that?"

Woody turns red. "N-No-"

"Hey, little dude," the tiefling says, sauntering up. 

"Leave the kid alone." 

Phaendar pauses, then the tiefling bares his fangs a little. He pairs it with a slight raise of his tail, and Phaendar runs. 

"Thank you," Woody says, embarrassed.

"What was that about?" the tiefling asks. 

"My magic," Woody says, still red. 

"It does things. Sometimes when I don't ask."

"Hey, that's okay," the tiefling replies. 

Woody nods a little. 

"Have a nice day, kid." 

Woody runs home. 

-

His parents are arguing about something or other to do with his magic, Woody can't be bothered, he's busy scraping up every coin he can find. They're not really paying attention to him, so it's easy. He packs everything he can carry, and once his parents are asleep, pops open one of the glass windows and carries his things to the inn to locate the tiefling.

The tiefling is sitting in the inn's dining room, at a table by himself, candle-lit. 

"What are you doing here, kid?" he asks. 

"Take me with you," Woody beseeches. The tiefling raises an eyebrow. 

"Are you sure?"

Woody nods. 

"Why?" 

"I don't like it here," Woody admits. "People are always talking about me. I don't want that anymore, I just want to go...see things. Like you do."

"Kid, I'm not sure if I have the-" 

Woody interrupts by dropping his bag of coins on the table. 

"-room...hot damn." 

The tiefling looks through Woody's money. 

"All yours?" 

"Y-Yeah." 

"Fine. Welcome aboard." 

The tiefling offers Woody his hand. 

"Herman Mendoza."

"Woody Johnson." 

Herman snorts slightly, enough that Woody brushes it off. 

"Can...can we leave tonight?" 

"Why, you running away?"

"S...Sorta." 

"Gods," Herman mutters. 

"Why am I always picking up runaways. Come on, kid, let's go."

Woody falls asleep in the back of the wagon on the way out of Glassmere, the snow of the taiga all around gently brushing his face and melting into droplets of water from the warmth of his skin.


End file.
